Back to the Future Fanfic Chain
by Movie Fanfic Chains
Summary: Multi-writer. A malfunction occurs with the DeLorean sending Marty and Doc into the very distant future controlled by "The System". An imprisoned man reduced to madness may be Marty and Doc's only hope of returning home before "The System" finds them.
1. Batch 1

**Disclaimer:** We do not own the characters from the movies. Characters not seen in the movies belong to the group as a whole or to one of the group members. Please ask permission before using them.

**Note: **We love nice reviews! They make us happy and inspire us to write at a faster pace, so be sure to review each chapter! :) We've included the author and their pen name in parenthesis.

**

* * *

Written by Delilah Draken (pen name same)  
**_- Diary, found as graffiti_

_Most people are afraid of me. Afraid of what I'd do to them, make them do. Most people don't understand what it means to know what I know, to have seen what should never have been allowed to be before man's eyes. They watch what I do with their cold hearts and frozen souls and laugh behind their facade of virtue and justice because at least one of them is able to break the rules. _

_So easy to break them. So easy to kill them. So easy to lose yourself in the illusion of life it creates. But maybe that is all I'll ever be. A means to an end, only breathing because it amuses those who watch, only existing because… because. _

_They told me I'll never see the sun again. Told me that nobody ever got out of this place and lived to tell the tale. Well, my dear guardians, you've never had me as your guest._

* * *

The room is bathed in light. Bright and deadly it opens the path, shows the way for a traveler to find their way through the very fabric of time and space. Fire follows the light, burning cold in its destructive protection of those within its core. Sound seems to leave the room and only silence remains after. 

Whatever this thing is, the lone inhabitant of the room thinks, it surely knows how to make an entrance.

He has to crawl over the freezing cold metal contraption that fills his tiny hole… sleeping quarters. He really should begin to think of it as something like a home, even when there couldn't be a more hopeless word to describe this place. After more than ten years he has maybe not lost all faith in ever getting out of this oh so nice penal colony but there seems to be a certain touch of reality invading his mind that just cannot be silenced, cannot be avoided to be listened to as it tells him of a fate that can never be changed. At least not without outside help.

And it looks like the pilot of this baby is my ticket to freedom, he thinks with a smile that most people would call a cruel smirk.

**Written by kleenexwoman42 (pen name kleenexwoman)  
**Marty leans back in the DeLorean as the car shudders to a halt. "Jeez," he says to the Doc. "That was a bumpy landing..."

Doc Brown does not answer, and Marty realizes that the old man is unconscious. He must have hit his head on the dashboard; he's slumped over and there's a thin trickle of blood running down his face.

"Oh, shit," Marty mutters. He slaps the Doc's cheek lightly. "Doc? Are you okay?"

The Doc does not respond. Marty begins to panic. What if he never wakes up? What if he's dead, and they're stuck in--Marty glances at the digital readout--the year 2405? And it's all his fault, he's the one that was so keen on seeing the future.

The window is starting to unfog, and Marty closes his eyes. He isn't sure he wants to see the future this far ahead, now. Maybe if he sits still and waits, nobody will notice the DeLorean and the Doc will wake up and they can go home...

The driver's side door of the DeLorean opens. Marty's mind races with possibilities, all of them bad. He scrunches into his seat, trying to look as inconspicuous and harmless as he possibly can. "Please don't hurt me," he says, and opens his eyes.

He sees a pair of clear, pale blue eyes inches from his own--it's just a man, not a robot or an alien or some kind of post-nuclear mutated freak. (He hopes.) There is something about the man's jutting nose, thin lips, and the black hair falling over his face that seems familiar, but Marty can't place it. He's seen this face before, but it's changed, blended through generations of DNA.

Marty takes a deep breath. "Can you help us," he says, his voice squeaking. He gestures towards the Doc. "My friend's hurt and I think we're lost. Is there a hospital near here, or..."

The man's face twists into a smile. "Help you? No. I can't do anything. I'm lost too." His voice is clear and high and strangely familiar, but there's a rasp in it like he's growling. Or like he hasn't spoken to anybody for years.

"You're lost?" Marty tries to see outside, but the man is blocking the door, and there's nothing but greenish-white surface next to his window. "Where are we?"

"This is where they keep you," the man says. "This is where they send you after they say you're broken." He lets out a high giggle. "Like a pig in a cage on antibiotics."

Oh God, the man's insane. But he's the only source of information Marty has about the world he's gotten into, the only thing Marty has to go on. "Who sends you here?"

"The system," the man snarls. "The perfect system. I had an operation..." His expression changes. "You have to get me out of here. We need to get you out of here."

This is the first thing he's said that Marty agrees with. "How do we get out of here?" Marty asks.

The man crawls into the car and settles himself between Marty and Doc's limp body, then reaches over and shuts the door. "If I knew, I'd have been out of here ten years ago. It's your vehicle. You got in here. You can get me out."

**Written by Delilah Draken (pen name same)  
**Quite amusing how his life sometimes plays with his head. Here he sits, inside of a thing he knows he has seen before but can't place where, and talks to some boy who is as afraid as he himself doesn't dare to show. What in the name of all thirteen Hells of Yrtan is going on here? And does he even care as long as it is a means to his end?

He looks around himself, watches the boy posture protectively as he touches the tiny rip in the other man's skin, brings the digit to his mouth. Tasty. Is slightly irritated at his reaction. Didn't the doctors tell him he wouldn't ever get a chance to be what he is, the monster that they fear? Doesn't the boy realize that he intends no harm? Doesn't he?

His fingers return to the place they want to be, to the gash in sleeping beauty's skin and press harder than he wanted to. Ouch, that has to sting. But the man with hair like fallen snow moves, so he couldn't have done that awful a thing he hopes.

No longer interested in the now waking figure he turns around and finds himself in front of the most beautiful thing in the whole universe, make that the whole known omniverse. This is the reason why his memory is running amok to find what he can't remember. This is the key. Or better said, a gatekeeper. A transportable, tiny and by the looks ancient gatekeeper. How did those two find such a thing? Where? The technology was destroyed and every knowledge of this fact prohibited after the great disaster of 8931 PC-IV (Post Colony IV - approximately 17397 AD). Every scientist was executed. How did they do that? And is he enough of a fool to ask?

Slowly, as to not disturb the rest of this vision, his head moves back to the boy, then to the numbers in front of them. 2405, PC-XI he adds at the end. Yes that is the date. Ten years, four months, 17 days and 25, 8 hours after he set foot into this paradise for the first time. Looks at the boy again. Tries to smile, won't come out right. Tries again.

"I was eight when I first saw what they don't like us to see. I didn't realize I broke their rules till much, much later. Didn't want to know, only wanted to stay home and be safe. Protect my princess, my sister, and just he happy, you know. They found me three years later. Took me away, took my princess as far away from me as you can get without leaving the galaxy, brought me here." He is breathing hard, can't get enough air in. Afraid, so afraid of what they did to princess, what he imagines being done to princess. But no, there is no time for fear. Not now. Not ever again. Never again.

Never, never, never again.

"For her I was a warrior, a black knight. For her I played at being a normal human and not the monster that I am." Now the smile is genuine, heartfelt in its simplicity. "She called me Erik."


	2. Batch 2

_Stoko: Thanks for the review! As far as the first batch leaving with a cliffhanger, not necessarily; it's just where that writer left off to see where the next writer would take it. Yup, a couple of intriguingly unique writers in the group! ) LOL, yes, Marty and Doc have gotten themselves way past the point of insanely into the future!_

**

* * *

Written by kleenexwoman42 (pen name kleenexwoman)  
**Princess sits in the little pink room they've given her, rocking back and forth. Eight-year-old Erik could watch his older sister sit and rock for hours. Sometimes, he'll start rocking back and forth himself, mirroring her movements. She stares at anyone who tries to touch her, lets herself go limp or screams and claws at the hands trying to place electrodes on her forehead, trying to stick needles into her, trying to pick her up and drag her down the hallway that leads to the black door, the one Erik is never to open. 

It happens every week. For a few hours, Princess is gone, out of his reach. Erik paces the hallway during this time, stares at the black door. It's torture--he doesn't know what's happened to her. She could be disappeared, dead, anywhere.

But it's sweet when Princess comes back out, so sweet that it almost makes up for the torture of uncertainty. For it is only after these sessions in the Black Room that Erik is allowed to touch his sister, allowed to crawl into her room and hug her, press his beaky little nose into her thick red hair and smell her warm, comforting scent. He's the only one she'll allow to touch her, the only one she talks to. She'll bend her head down and whisper secrets into his ear, tell him stories. Places she's visited--jungles where giant lizards roar and scream, places where the sun is spitting fire and the sky is blue as ice, rolling green hills dotted with tall white columns rising like bones out of the earth, cities of smooth stone and glass jutting up into the sky. Every so often, she'll uncurl a clenched hand and show him a serrated tooth, a strange flower, an unfamiliar coin or a little piece of jewelry that she's brought back with her. "I got this from a man who wrapped himself in a sheet and spoke poetry," she'll tell him. "I want you to have it. I don't want them to take it from me. Keep it safe." He smuggles them away in his pockets and hides them in his room, under his pillow. They always fade away within a few days, but as long as he can slide his hand under his pillow and touch them, he feels his sister's presence.

One week, the session goes long, lasts through dinnertime. Princess still isn't out by the time Erik is sent to bed. He can't sleep that night, wondering where Princess has gone, where they've taken her. Maybe she's gone for good. He thinks that maybe she's finally escaped, she's gone into one of those worlds where she picks flowers and talks with poets. But...Princess would never leave without him, she'd find some way to take him. Maybe--and his stomach clenches at the thought--maybe they've taken her instead, dragged her to someplace so far away that he can never follow.

Yes. He wouldn't put it past Them.

He has to save her, he knows. Princess depends on him.

He slips out of bed and silently pads down the corridor, stopping as he reaches the Black Door. There is no handle. It's a blank, featureless slab. Impassible. There's no way he can get through. He has failed before he even started.

But there is nothing a determined eight-year-old cannot do, and Erik will not accept defeat, not when his Princess's life is on the line. He touches the door with his fingertip, and it slides open. There are things he's never seen before behind bolted doors...

They've put Princess on a table. Her arms and legs are held by restraints, and there are wires stuck to her forehead. Her body is jerking back and forth, up and down, her limbs twitching violently as seizures overtake her. She's trying to toss her head back; her eyelids are fluttering.

Even as Erik watches, too horrified to move, he can see Princess fading in and out of sight. Things move around her, leaves and tentacles and shadows of people and monsters, walls and colors and snatches of music and screams and conversation. When her body grows insubstantial and transparent, the things brighten and solidify. The wires on her head run into boxes, white and grey boxes with glowing numbers. He realizes that there are people in white coats and grey jumpsuits running around, standing and watching the boxes.

They're speaking...

"We call it Temporal Displacement Disorder, sir. It's very rare and it's only luck that we managed to catch this case before she slipped into another time entirely."

"Five thousand and counting. She's slipping backwards faster now."

"Wonderful, this is the best case I've ever seen...imagine what we could do if we could only figure out how to expand the bridge."

"Sixty thousand and counting."

"None of the serums have worked, sir. We haven't even managed to get her to bring things back yet."

"She's jumped. Four thousand years."

"I want a new drug, dammit. Give her whatever you need to. If we can figure out how to break through the barrier, we can spread the wisdom of the System as far back in the past as she'll travel. Convert all of Time."

"Jumped again. Forty billion years ago. Stabilizing."

Princess is lying still now, her chest moving up and down. She opens her mouth and lets out a weak cry of pain.

Erik can't stand it. He rushes to her side and touches her face.

"What the hell--" Erik is grabbed from behind, wrestled to the ground. "How did he get in here?" Needles are jabbed into his skin, and pinwheels of color explode behind his eyes. Things go black.


	3. Batch 3

Anonymous-cat: Thanks for the review! Good questions! Only the writers can reveal the answers to us, so stay tuned! Yup, it seems Erik has a bit of the Vampire Syndrome as well. Keep up with the RR!

**

* * *

**

**Written by Delilah Draken (pen name same)  
**Slow, so terribly slow, his mind returns to the present. Had he wished to remain in these long gong places his soul cherishes beyond belief? Is there even a touch of reality in what he dreams about? He doesn't ask. There is no need to.

Warning claxons echo in the narrow halls of his room, reverberate on the metal sheets protecting the three men from most of its noise. Here behind the doors of the ancient gatekeeper he watches the south wall of his home vanish in a thousand silver sparks dancing between the cell and an open hallway that leads nowhere. Watches as others like him walk across the thresholds of their confinement only to follow the orders of screeching voices that cannot be silenced.

One of these men stops in his journey past the open cells and looks at him, at him sitting inside a strange thing that looks a bit too much like one of those carrier shuttles they use to bring them to this colony. Smiles like he sees a long lost friend and waits, grows impatient as there seems no visible reaction and begins to knock against the barrier.

"Come on, Phantom. Dinner's getting older and you promised to kill Sevkljis for me today. You know how I get when I have to wait for my blood."

Dear old Cyrus, always looking for his next meal, Erik thinks fondly. Were it not for the fact that the skeletal thin man suffered from the Vampire Syndrome, an illness created due to an overabundance of genetic manipulations in the populace of Lursa Maior, the gentle soul would have never arrived here. Such a shame that the government's only answer to such hereditary deceases is nothing but a life behind the bars of a cage. Such a terrible shame.

The boy seems a bit disturbed by all that has happened, the snow haired man is still not awake enough to be of much help, so he decides to follow Cyrus' advice. A good meal is in order. Something to eat and a bit bloodshed.

"Phantom?" the boy asks with a slight tremor in his voice. He can't understand what the kid is afraid of.

"Cyrus is a bit obsessed with Precolonial Poetry and believes I'm the rebirth of some ghost. Nothing to be afraid of, really," he answers as he shoves the two newcomers out of the gatekeeper.

"By the way, what's your name?"

**Written by Anakin McFly (same pen name)  
**Light. Erik feels it, feels the warm sunlight bathing his body as he slowly opens his eyes. He's in a vast field of green; miles and miles of endless turf dotted with flowers that stretches as far as the eye can see, all the way to the horizon where the grass meets the clear blue sky. Unseen birds twitter in the background, occasionally filling the morning air with a burst of birdsong the sound of which Erik only knows from the stories Princess tells him.

"Erik!"

The boy turns instinctively towards the voice. Princess runs towards him, laughing merrily. He's never seen her so happy before.

"Erik! I knew you'd come," she says. His sister smiles lovingly at him, and Erik slowly returns the smile. Everything will be all right now, he tells himself. Everything will be all right.

Gently, Princess helps him get to his feet. She puts his small hand in hers, and the two of them run off through the grass together with joyful abandon in a paradise of their own, free for the moment from the evil clutches of the System…

They reach a tree and sit under it in its shade, their backs to its trunk. Princess looks at him, and suddenly her eyes turn troubled.

"Erik, you've got to help me," she says quietly, almost in a whisper. "They're taking me away, do you understand? They want to use me. You have to stop them. Promise me you'll stop them."

Erik nods slightly as he stares at her sister, her red hair blowing lightly in the breeze, framing a face that no longer radiated with the happiness it had just a moment ago. The sudden sadness scared him. He didn't want to see Princess like that.

"I promise," he says sincerely, and the smile returns to her face. She puts an arm around him, drawing him closer to her.

A violent jolt shakes his body, and the paradise suddenly vanishes.

He's in his bedroom, lying on his bed in darkness. Erik's eyes dart around, as he tries to get his bearings. What was he doing here?

He remembered going past the Black Door, remembered seeing the men in coats…

Princess…

Erik leaps out of bed and rushes down the corridor, the sound of his footsteps muted by the carpeted floor. The Black Door looms up ominously before him, foreboding as always.

Heart pounding, he raises his finger to touch it like he did before… but this time, the Door does not open. Erik beats his fists on it, screaming.

"Princess!"

Someone comes up behind him and touches his shoulder. Erik jumps in fright, then calms slightly as he sees his guardian.

"What are you doing out of bed at this hour?" she asks, as though nothing has happened.

The boy looks wildly at her. "They've taken Princess inside… they're doing things to her… I've got to save her, I've got to…" Erik stops, gasping for breath.

His guardian smiles condescendingly at him and shakes her head slowly. "Nonsense, Erik. You've just been dreaming again. You'd better go back to bed."

"No! She's still in there!" Erik pounds on the Door again. "Princess!"

"Erik…" His guardian grabs him firmly by the shoulders and leads him back to his bedroom, picking him completely off the ground when he continues to protest, yelling down the corridor for his sister.

His bedroom door slams shut as his guardian dumps him in the room. Erik yanks at the door handle, but it doesn't budge. He's locked in.

He's never been locked in before.


	4. Batch 4

**Written by kleenexwoman42 (pen name kleenexwoman)  
**"I'm Marty," Marty mutters, trying to help Doc out of the car. The old man is still dizzy, and his legs are wobbling. Marty sighs and lets Doc sit.

"Leave him here for now," Erik says, "he'll be fine. Come on." He grabs Marty's arm and drags him out of the cell. "Stay with me." They're walking through the halls, in a crush of other...prisoners, Marty assumes. He still isn't sure whether this is a real prison or some kind of asylum. Maybe there's not a difference anymore. Most of the other people look...well, a little weird. Some of them are missing appendages, or have too many, or there's just something very strange about the way they walk or look that he can't quite put his finger on.

The only exceptions are the people standing against the walls, every twenty feet or so. They all look the same, with paper-white skin, shaved heads, and grey jumpsuits. Nobody else looks at them. "Are those guards?" he asks Erik.

Erik is intent on following the skinny man who said something about blood, and Marty has to repeat the question before he looks up. "The grey ones? Genos," Erik hisses. "They say they follow the Path. Servants of the System. They're the only ones who are fanatical enough to risk tainting their pure mind-souls by being around us freaks, making sure we don't get out of line." He grabs Marty's chin and directs his head away. "Don't look at them."

Eventually, the hallway opens up into a huge room with tables and chairs. A cafeteria. Marty follows Erik as he threads his way through the tables, still following the incredibly skinny man who said something about blood earlier. They sit down. "Wait here," Erik says, and disappears.

The skinny man grins at Marty from across the table. "I'm Cyrus," he says. "Welcome, my son, to the machine."

"Uh, thanks," Marty says. There's a tray on the table, holding a single square of spongy beige stuff. He pokes at it. "Do you know what this is?"

"Protein biscuit," Cyrus says. "Very nutritious. I don't eat them. Would you like mine?" Marty declines and watches Cyrus fidget. Erik returns a few minutes later with a huge man in tow. "Stay," he says. The man obediently stops moving, and Erik calmly digs his hands into the man's throat and tears it open. He steps back as the man falls to the floor. "There," he says to Cyrus. "Go ahead." The skinny man grins and clambers over the table, then drops to his knees and starts drinking out of the big man's throat.

Marty feels the blood drain out of his face. He's never seen anyone get killed in front of him before, and it's not a pleasant experience. "You just...you..." He turns to Erik. "That guy...what was that for?"

Erik isn't even looking at Marty. He's rubbing the side of his head and staring nervously at something Marty can't see. "Here they come."

"Here who come? What's going on?"

"I knew they wouldn't like this. But you're here. They won't like you," Erik mutters. He looks around. "Get under the table. Maybe they won't notice you."

Marty isn't going to question him at this point. He slides under the table and curls up into a ball. There's a little stream of blood trickling under the table, and he scootches away from it.

In a few moments, there are five or six Genos surrounding the table. The first Geno stares at the body, at Cyrus drinking out of it. "We will have to dispose of the body," one of them says.

"Not until I'm done," Cyrus mumbles.

"You should not partake of the blood," another Geno lectures. "Your mind and soul are already tainted from your illness. Why do you persevere in keeping yourself alive? Stop trying; it only damns you further in the eyes of the Path."

Cyrus laughs bitterly and lifts his head up. "What is the Path? No spill blood," he sings. "Break the rules, you get no bone."

"Hey," Marty says to himself. "I know that song."

A Geno bends down and stares at him. "What song? Are you a Prismatic?"

Marty tries to slide back. "A what?"

The Geno grabs his arm and hauls him out from under the table. Marty scrabbles for purchase on the slick floor, but the Geno makes him stand up.

He's surrounded by Genos now. They're staring at him with perfectly blank expressions, no emotion at all in their faces. One reaches out and plants its palm on his forehead, and for a second he can't think. The Geno withdraws its hand. "Normal mind. Just a Prismatic, not a freak. How did you get here?"

Marty looks for an escape route. There's only one door, and that leads to a hallway filled with more Genos..."Time machine," he says, and tries to run.

The Genos grab him. Their faces are all he can see, blank white faces, dull eyes staring into his soul. "We can turn him."

"His mind is imprintable."

"The Path is Grey."

"Accept balance. Logic. Neutrality."

He can feel his self being flayed away, emotion and color and memories dropping off, falling until there is nothing left but certainty, paralysis, deadness, he can't move and he can't think...

Something worms its way into his consciousness, a bright sharp sensation on the edge of his perception. A taste, something tangy and coppery and alive. His vision clears, and he spits something red onto the white floor. Erik is standing in front of him, half-grinning. His hands are covered in blood, and he's withdrawing a finger from Marty's mouth.

"The blood," he says. "They don't like it. Human, a monkey-mind thing. I think they have electronic paste in their veins." Marty looks around. The Genos have scattered to the sides of the cafeteria. No, wait, not all of themthere's a dead Geno on the floor. Marty can't see any blood, but his neck is twisted. "Oh, they won't mind," Erik says. "Genos don't care if they die."

Cyrus stands up and wipes his mouth. "Thank you, Phantom. Don't know what I'd do without you."

Erik glanced around the room. "Time to go."

"Aren't you going to eat?" Marty asks.

"The protein biscuits? No. They put drugs in them," Erik says. "Come on. We can figure out how to get out." They go back through the halls, passing the blank-faced Genos lining the walls. Marty stares at the floor, avoiding their gaze.

Erik's room is not how they left it. The DeLorean is gone, and so is the Doc. Instead, there's a lone Geno standing in the room.

On second thought, it doesn't seem to be a Geno. The Genos Marty saw were sexless, with smooth heads, no expression, and certainly no weapons (their creepy little mind tricks must have been enough to keep the inmates in check, he thinks). This one is definitely female underneath her jumpsuit. Her head is covered with blonde stubble, she's holding something that looks like a taser, and she's half-smiling.

Erik stops. "Miss Dagny," he says quietly.

Miss Dagny walks towards them. "Erik," she says sweetly. "You've been very bad. You didn't tell anybody you had...visitors."


	5. Batch 5

**Written by Delilah Draken (pen name same)  
**_"You didn't tell anybody you had… visitors." _

The words slice through his mind like a hot knife through butter, echo in a way that makes him long for a kind of pain he buried miles deep under his black soul. The voice, nearly a whisper but loud enough to be heard in even the most crowded of rooms, is full of promises, sweet fantasies created to keep him in line. The body belonging to this perfectly tuned instrument has lost its appeal to him years ago.

She can't touch him, has no power over him. He only has to remember that. Never forget why you hate her, he reminds himself. Never forget what she did to you the last time you fell for her. Never forget, she is not worth your pain. But a tiny part of his mind is still in her thrall, follows her lead to places he really doesn't wish to see again, and not even Cyrus with his understanding eyes and tales of old can make this raw wound heal up.

"Miss Dagny," he repeats, wishes to use another name, call her queen, goddess, anything to make his thoughts stop going in this direction. Cyrus once called her Christine, Erik's Christine, a beautiful Delilah that only waits to cut his hair. True, he never understood where the vampire gets his strange nicknames from, but somehow, deep inside where there once was sunlight and now only darkness and despair reigns, the words hold a wisdom that makes him want to cry.

Slowly he walks to her, takes her hand, raises it to his lips. This is it, the sweet taste of roses and dreams. This is what he wishes to forget, what he despite everything else can't deny. Her hand touches his hair and guides him to her lips. Here he has control, can make her ignore what she came for to learn. With his arms around her body he turns around, still attached to her mouth and looks at the two he has to protect now, hopes they get the message.

Run.

A short moment later Cyrus and the boy - Marty, Marty, Marty, the boy has a name - have vanished from his view and he can concentrate on things much more in need of his whole attention. Like the beautiful demon in his arms.

"You shouldn't have done that, my dear." she says with a frown. "There is always a price to pay."

**Written by kleenexwoman42 (pen name kleenexwoman)  
**Cyrus hustles Marty out of the room. "We can go back to my cell the back way," he whispers. "We'll be safe there."

"Wait, who was that girl?" Marty asks.

"The Grey Lady of the colony," Cyrus says. "She used to be a Geno. They keep her around to pacify some of the more dangerous inmates. Hurry up, will you?" He grabs Marty's arm and drags him down a side hallway.

The man looks frail, but he is really quite strong, and Marty feels like his arm is being dislocated. He breaks away from Cyrus's grasp and rubs his arm. "Pacify?"

Cyrus snickers, not unkindly, and pushes him down another hallway. "You haven't noticed? All the inmates here are men or androgens. Women are kept in another colony. They don't want us freaks breeding."

"Oh…"

"You noticed what those Genos did you to in the cafeteria? Mind control. They teach it to Genos. Doesn't work on me, of course."

"Why, do you have some kind of mind power of your own?"

Cyrus laughs again, shakes his head. "If I did, I'd use it. I'm just lucky, I suppose. My poor dear Phantom holds more power over me than she does. I know she uses it on him, otherwise he'd never look at her."

Marty thinks this is slightly unfair; Dagny wasn't exactly Madonna, but she wasn't ugly, either.

"He's obsessed, you see," Cyrus says. "His poor Princess. He talks about her all the time—careful." They duck into a doorway as two Genos walk down the hall, staring straight ahead.

"Yeah," Marty says. "I know. Was she really a princess, or…?" A stupid question, probably. But for all he knows, the future is just like "Star Wars" and there's really a girl out there with cinnamon buns taped to her head, talking to droids.

"Hm? Oh no, he just calls her that. Personally," Cyrus says, "I don't think she really exists. But it gives him something to live for, and that's more than most of us have."

* * *

Dagny pushes Erik away. "You," she says. "You freak. You disgust me."

He knows what she wants to hear from him, the subtle conditioning she's been trying to instill in him for years. Trying to wear him down, get him to admit that he's nothing more than a monster. He usually resists; his sessions with her are a mixture of tantalizing pleasure and sweet pain that invariably end with her storming out, frustrated, screaming to the Genos that she'll never touch him again. Today is different. Today, he must pretend to capitulate, buy time for Cyrus and Marty. If he lets her leave, she'll go after Marty (she's given up on Cyrus long ago; the vampire man laughs at her kisses and won't respond to her caresses, no matter what she does), and his only hope for escape will be stuck here, a slave to this woman.

He crouches on the floor. "I'm sorry, lady."

He can tell without looking up that she is smiling. "You should be sorry. We take you in, Erik. We feed you and give you a place to live, and this is how you repay is? By harboring a rogue scientist and his servant? Shame, Erik, shame." She stands closer to him, brushing the top of his head with her fingertips. "Now is that gratitude?"

"No, lady," he whispers.

"And you were doing so well, too." Her voice is soft, like she's talking to an animal or a baby. "So well. You hadn't killed anyone for a month. We gave you a place, Erik, a place to hide. So you didn't have to be afraid of yourself anymore."

Erik nods, trying to determine what she wants now. "Afraid of myself."

"Because you are, Erik." She bends down and looks him in the face. "And you should be. You can't control yourself. Like a wild animal." She slaps him. He closes his eyes and tries to breathe.. "You are afraid, Erik. You can't help it, poor baby." She caresses his face. "Poor thing, so scared that you'll kill again. That you'll kill someone you love."

She stands up. "Like you killed your Princess."


	6. Batch 6

**Written by Delilah Draken (pen name same)  
**Some days he envies his silent friend. Envies the dreams, the never wavering conviction that all will be right, all can be _made _right. But that is probably the only truth Cyrus can never believe.

For too long he has lived in this colony. For too long was he forced to watch those he loved perish in blindingly bright colours, grey matter splattered on the walls. Far too long was the time since he saw the stars, breathed real air and not this filtered and purified stuff they try to put in his lungs.

"It is here that terrible..." The boys voice rips him from his musings, makes him focus on the now. Talent like this, he thinks, is not easily found. A voice to keep in mind, to listen to and never forget. Even if he never became 'great'.

"Of course, it is, grasshopper. The great Emperor, this old toad sitting in his Ivory Tower and gleefully playing chess with Death himself, decides you are not fit for proper society and holy carrots pie, Batman, you are in one of the colonies and nobody remembers you ever existed." This makes him grin, nearly break out in a kind of laughter mostly described as maniac.

There is a certain freedom on succumbing to madness, but, as he once told a little boy who cried for his princess, there is no true freedom but the night. For in darkness the shadows can find your face.

**Written by kleenexwoman42 (pen name kleenexwoman)**  
Marty quietly moves against the far wall of Cyrus's little room, far from the man. He's pretty sure the man won't hurt him, but that crazy laugh is worrying him and he isn't sure that he wants to be here at all. Maybe if he keeps the guy talking, he can keep him sane for a while. "So…who's this Emperor guy?"

Cyrus gives him an "I can't believe you're this stupid" look. "Our Fearless Leader. The War Pig. The Grey God. The Man in the High Castle." He shrugs. "So many names for such a man. They say he's lived ten thousand years. Nobody knows where he is, only that he exists. He founded the Genos, you know. Some say he died years ago, and there's just a computer where he once sat."

"A computer," Marty says in disbelief.

"Oh, of course. After all, you wouldn't want mere humans running the Galaxy, would you? They might make mistakes," Cyrus says sarcastically. The manic laughter is gone now, and he looks very tired. "I used to know," he says. "I used to work for them, if you can believe it. I was a psychohistorian—an academic politician. But I've forgotten so much…they cut it out, you see." He brushes his bone-white hair from his face. "See, see."

Marty stares at Cyrus's forehead. "What?"

Cyrus makes a grunt of disgust and crosses the room—not far, five steps. He shoves his forehead in Marty's face. "The scar! Look!"

There's a small pinkish circle on his temple, contrasting with the sallow skin. It's perfectly round, sunk into the skin.

Marty touches it, brushing it lightly with his fingertips. "The Genos did this?"

Cyrus nods and lets his hair fall over his face once again. "It's a strange thing, deadly reason. Razors cut with such precision…they left me my memories to torment me, just took out what made me dangerous to them. They don't want you to know too much, you see."

"When was this?"

"Years ago, when I first came here. They do it to every patient. If they catch you, they'll do it to you too."

"If they catch you…shit. Oh, shit…" Marty jumps up. "We gotta find the Doc. Can you help me?"

"Doc? Doctor? He's a physician?"

"A scientist. He invented the time machine I came here in. I don't know where he is."

"Ah, a scientist." Cyrus nods. "Well, they might be merciful in that case."

"They won't do the operation?"

"No, they might just kill him instead."

* * *

"Ouch. Marty? Marty, what happened?"

The darkness clears away as Emmett slowly reaches consciousness. It must have been quite a bumpy landing—he obviously hit his head on the dashboard and blacked out. "I've got to install airbags on that thing," he mutters. No matter, the car should still work. He can't wait to see what the far future is like. Perhaps mankind has become more reasonable, stopped fighting and learned to settle their differences through reason and intellect rather than bombs. One can always hope.

He tries to sit up. Something is holding his head back. Panic—has he become paralyzed?

"Please, don't struggle." A calm, neutral voice. "You are safe."

He opens his eyes. Nothing but blinding white as his eyes adjust. "Where am I?"

"You are safe," the voice repeats. It's coming from a…person, standing in front of him. Their head is shaved and their skin is white—he can't tell if it's a male or a female.

Emmett clears his throat. This must be a denizen of the future. He has prepared a speech. "Ahem. I am Doctor Emmett L. Brown, of the year 1985, and I have come to…"

"We know who you are," the person says.

"You do?" He allows himself to wonder if his reputation has preceded him. Maybe he has, indeed, become famous…

"Yes. We probed your mind."

"My mind?" He is disappointed, then furious. How dare they look into his mind, his private self? Even a society of the future should have the basic decency to leave that part of humanity alone. He feels violated.

"As a security measure, you see. A precaution. It was very interesting."

"Interesting? Interesting? How dare you…"

"It must be very difficult," the person interrupts. "What you carry around in there."

"No…"

"Such a burden." The person's voice is tinged with compassion. "You hold such knowledge in your head. Doesn't it get tiring? Wouldn't you rather not know?"

Emmett tries to look dignified. "Scientific knowledge is a privilege, not a burden."

"But what has science done? You must know your history, a clever man like you. Such abominations in its name. Monsters and madmen. The dead start walking. Time fractures, the world is set on fire. And you…your kind, the scientists. Responsible for such chaos."

"I had absolutely nothing to do with any of that! I don't know how your society…I don't know what happened. I'm from the past."

"…Ah." The person seems almost hesitant.

"Will you let me go?"

"No. This is an excellent opportunity. Things…can be changed. Mistakes erased." A pause. "We hate mistakes."

Panic. "Let me GO!"

"Please, compose yourself. This will not hurt…" There's a slight pinch as a needle slides into Emmett's arm, and the world recedes. He doesn't even feel it as the drill pierces his skull.


End file.
